


Quicksand

by atsuyuri_sama



Series: Behind Glowing Eyes [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Beginning spoilers for S3, Deaton has a Spark, Deaton was part of the Hale Pack, Deaton!Feels, Gen, Language, Main Spoilers for S1E5, and another Pack before that, minor depression, with a now-dead Mate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atsuyuri_sama/pseuds/atsuyuri_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alan had been part of two Packs. But he poured his life into them, only to watch them burn (figuratively and literally). He couldn’t handle it again. So Alan does what he can to stay out of the trouble brewing in this town, even as he knows, like quicksand, it will drag him back quicker the more he struggles.</p><p>ETA 8/6/2013: I just realized I'd already written out some of Alan's past in Part 8 (which was written out-of-order, before this), so I added some things to make sure the two accounts matched up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quicksand

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Teen Wolf.
> 
> Part 5 in Behind Glowing Eyes.
> 
> I think I like Alan, now. My version of him, anyway. ETA 8/6/2013: I just realized I'd already written out some of Alan's past in Part 8 (which was written out-of-order, before this), so I added some things to make sure the two accounts matched up.

At first, it was the small things.

Scott – loyal, hard-working Scott – was late. He was a little off, a little preoccupied. The animals were just a little strange around him.

Alan knew the signs. He just wanted _so badly_ not to be a part of that world again. It wasn’t hard to ignore.

Then rumors of wolves in the area.

This was less easy to put aside… But it was like he’d heard the Stilinski kid telling Scott: animals migrate all the time when conditions are more favorable in one place versus another. It was an explanation that Alan willingly chose to cling to.

Then animal attacks.

He prayed that’s all it was. The photographs the sheriff brought in, though - _those_ he could not ignore. _Those_ he could not explain away. There was no other creature in all the known world, or any bestiary, that made marks like those. Close, yes, but ‘close’ only counts in… well, you know.

Alan deflected as best as he could. His sanity was dependent at this point on staying clear of anything not strictly mundane. He would not put himself in that kind of position again – the kind that meant a dagger of cold iron pierced his chest as he felt his Pack (especially _Her)_  die to Vampires; as he felt the Pack he had adopted all die, too, all together this time. The kind that meant the pain was so great that he didn’t feel how _two whole members_ of the Pack he had made himself responsible to had survived, relatively unscathed, until he heard about it second-hand. He just couldn’t subject himself to that.

He knew. He wasn’t thinking around it, now. Werewolves. Back in Beacon Hills. But that didn’t mean he was going to give in.

But like all things supernatural, escalation was quick, brutal, and would only get worse.

Scott wasn’t just late. He was _not here._ He hadn’t called ahead; Scott didn’t do that. And – as much as Alan didn’t want to be involved – he’d known Scott, gotten attached to Scott, long before all this. He cared about Scott like a son (one he'd never have otherwise) – he was eager to take any advice, attention, and care Alan could offer – and was worried about Scott.

It might lead back to werewolves. And that would… be more difficult that anyone could ever know. But it was Scott, the boy for whom Alan had opened his heart for the first time in six years (and considering what had happened the last couple of times in his life he'd done so, he was more determined than ever to do what he could to be there for him). And that’s not something a person can let go of.

“Hey, Scott! It’s me again; just calling to make sure everything’s okay… You were supposed to be here an hour ago. Maybe you forgot. Well, whatever it is, just give me a call and let me know everything’s okay.”

He was so worried…

The first step into quicksand was always the one unwittingly made.

A reflection in the glass caught Alan’s attention, and a name flew unbidden to his lips.

“Sheriff Stilinski!”

He could _feel_ that world reeling him back in. And it was using John’s responsible, work-weathered face to do it; Alan _liked_ what little he knew of the other man. The other man was wane with concern for the safety of his town, and his dedication to his job meant there was no _way_ he was backing down from this, either.

“Listen,” the other man began, “I-I hate to bother you, but, uh… I’m having a bitch of a time getting a consensus on what this is we’re dealing with.”

Alan was worried about _Scott_ , not about some random sighting. If Scott wasn’t involved in all that, by some miracle, Alan didn’t want to place himself in between a rock and a hard place in the meantime. This conversation was going to be one of his best works at evasion yet… He forced a chuckle, for John’s sake, and tried, “I’m really flattered you’ve come to me for help, but like I’ve said before: I’m no expert.”

“But you were pretty certain the other day about out attacker being a mountain lion.”

So there was going to be no easy way out of this, huh? Alan could play along.

“That’s right.”

John sighed, and Alan’s heart – the dried husks of where his sense of Pack once sat, and the burned shell of his adopted Pack – twanged in sympathy. He wanted to help, he did. His sense of self preservation was simply much stronger than his sense of duty; loss of all dear to him had seen to that. The Sheriff kept going, clueless of Alan’s inner struggle.

“I wanna show you something.” When he waved around the laminated leaves of a couple of security photos, Alan felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. Getting physical evidence of the supernatural was almost always a death sentence for the one involved; he _hopedprayedbegged_ it not to be Derek, the last of the last of his most recent Pack. “We got a little lucky here. The video store didn’t have any cameras, but… the security camera that was watching another parking lot happened to grab a few frames. Take a look at our ‘mountain lion’.”

Alan’s breath stayed even: this one was harmless. Just a dark shape hurtling through a window. Could have been anything. Please not the remaining piece the Hale Pack, please!

“Here’s another.”

Well, crap. That was definitely a monstrous four-legged shape hulking there in the video store parking lot. At least it wasn’t Derek. Only Alphas can assume an Alpha shape; while Betas could become literal wolves with an Alpha’s training, this was no wolf. And if Alan knew anything, it was that Derek couldn’t do either.

He was no Alpha; while Laura might have been, she wouldn’t have had the strength or experience to teach something like that to a Beta Derek; and the current Alpha running rampant over the town and Derek were not in synch. There was no way Derek would condone that kind of behavior.

“It’s interesting.” Keep it mild.

“Actually, uh…” Oh, come on! “This is the interesting one.”

“I see what you mean.” I see that it’s not the only surviving member of my adopted Pack. I see it has nothing to do with me, even peripherally. I see that you’ve got a werewolf problem. I see that nothing I’m connected to will currently make me help you.

“I never seen a mountain lion do that.” John was incredulous, and tired.

“Can’t say I have, either.” Because, of course, he hadn’t. Alpha wolves, sure. Mountain lions, though? Never. Lie by omission, then redirect. Perhaps the Sheriff would get the hint. “You got a problem here.”

“My first instinct was that it was a bear. But bears don’t walk that that on two legs.”

“No, they drop to all fours.”

Stubborn people were usually a favorite of Alan’s. But this was a touchy subject; this was something he wanted absolutely _nothing_ to do with, not after the Vampires, and then the Fire. It wasn’t John’s fault, but the other man was pushing. Alan nodded distractedly, presumably to John, to cover up his distraction.

“Look, like I said: You really need an expert here.”

There wasn’t much he could do with the dried-burned Pack-place in his soul, but it would be enough. He reached deep, into the hollowed charcoal next to the flickering warmth of his Spark. It was the work of a moment – of sense-memory, casting to (either) Pack across town (when they were alive to hear) – to pull a thread loose, and cast it aimlessly into the back room.

“Yeah-yeah, but…” John was casting ‘lines’ of his own, human lines of communication. It wouldn’t phase Alan; he’d had practice avoiding those. “Could this still be a mountain lion?”

On cue, sensing the distress he’d sent out – faded and flickering though it was, these animals knew who was taking care of them, and would sense _him_ in the feeling if nothing else – a Doberman began barking. Bless her.

 “I’m sorry, I’ve got a sick Doberman that needs my attention.”

John was getting desperate now, “No other ideas?”

No. Not if he wanted to stay _out_ of this mess. He was guilty – he wouldn’t be human otherwise – but he was desperate, too. The Hale Pack adoption had been a fluke, he'd _planned_ to stay out after his Mate died! A _third_ run through the ringer was so far out of the plan that light from the sun couldn't reach it. “I’m sorry. Really I wish I could help you, but I’ve got a sick—”

John grunted, annoyed, “—dog, I heard you.” Alan never said people didn’t _notice_ his evasions… just that they _worked._ And, indeed, John was deflating, shoulders stooping. “Thanks for humoring me, again.”

Alan shrugged, _Sorry, wish I could have done more, but that would have been hurting myself,_ nodded. The important part was avoiding eye-contact; guilt, when piled on like this, could overpower even the strongest flows of self preservation. Then he fled to the back room as quick as was socially acceptable.

The ringing of the front door made Alan sag with relief against the wall. After a moment, he lifted himself up and approached the Doberman that had answered his distress call. He smoothed his hand over the sweet spot along her spine, only noticing then how much he was trembling.

“Good girl.”

Alan hated how badly his voice was shaking. He hated how much he wanted to help John. He hated how badly he was hollowed out, despite escaping the coven unbitten, hated how badly he was burned, despite never having been close enough to _see_ the fire.

And he hated that he was reasonably sure that Scott was probably right in the middle of this mess. Because, for Scott – who reminded him so much of Cora’s twin, Elizabeth, when he was being honest with himself (so much like the son he and his Mate dreamed of) – Alan would do anything.

It figures that the first person he let close _would_ be a kid who falls head-first into Alan’s old lives.

Once in Pack, wolf or no, always in Pack, running or staying.

It won’t take him without a fight, though.

Even if it’s quicksand.


End file.
